


This Must Be What Fun Is

by WritertotheMaximum



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Homophobia, M/M, Not for the faint of heart, Pre-Despair, Saihara is a dick, Sick and Twisted, Spoilers, Weak Ouma, aromantic Saihara, pregame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-10-07 15:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10363908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritertotheMaximum/pseuds/WritertotheMaximum
Summary: [WARNING: This fic contains heavy allusions to massive end-game spoilers for DRV3 so please keep that in mind before reading. The actual summary is in the Notes section.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ouma is your normal highschool student, except that he has a certain infatuation with this boy in the park. Something about him draws Ouma to him, it's his presence, his grace.
> 
>  
> 
> What…If I take photo?

Ouma leaned against the chain-link fence in the park. He flicked on his phone, aimed it towards the boy next to him and snapped a shot as stealthily as possible.  
A light blinded the boy in the face, and he looked over at Ouma. Their eyes met, the boy’s grey meeting with Ouma’s purple. They bore into him, surprised, pondering, clawing. His voice was soft, his lips curved and flush. But his words burned like acid. They stung with a thick harshness that drilled its way into Ouma.  
“You took a photo of me, didn’t you?”  
A thin layer of sweat began to cover the entirety of his body, stinging much like the acid of the words.  
_Shit._  
He looked away in effort to avoid the piercing glare.  
“...Maybe.”  
The boy grabbed Ouma’s head and angled towards his face. His fingers jabbed into Ouma’s jaw, and a line split the boy’s face in two. It took Ouma a second to register the expression as a smile. The boy’s eyes darted around Ouma’s whole body, which began to shiver from the pressure exerted onto it.  
“Why?”  
Ouma tried to look away, but was restricted by the fingers pulling him to the ominous glare.  
“Why?” His voice turned from soft to ice, still a smooth surface, but cold and demanding. When he realized he couldn’t get an answer from someone with their face being crushed, he let go, throwing Ouma onto the wet and dirty grass. The boy gripped the edge of his hat as his expression softened, but only in feeling, not in appearance.  
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be that harsh. I just want to know your motivations.”  
Ouma spoke from the ground. He winced.  
“…I wanted a photo of you.”  
_It wasn’t exactly a lie._  
“Why, though?” The boy took a step forward. “Did someone pay you? Do you have some sort of odd hobby? Maybe it turns you on taking photos of random people.”  
Ouma’s face flashed red, partially in embarrassment, but also for another reason. This person was so cruel, but there was something within Ouma telling him to tell the truth. He pushed his face into the dewy grass, covering his nose in a thin layer of water.  
“T-That’s not right.”  
“Hm…? Then what is it, then?”  
“I…I-It’s…Um…It’s…”  
The boy put a finger to his lips, the soft, delicate, fleshy bits that protruded from his face. They spoke to Ouma, wrapping across the boy’s face like a snake. A devious smile ready to devour its victims whole. His words spoke in venom, draining out Ouma’s soul with every syllable.  
“Is it because you love me?”  
Ouma was kicked in the chest by those words and the air around him ran out of oxygen. It’s not like he couldn’t breathe just because he didn’t want to; It’s that his lungs simply wouldn’t move. He opened his eyes against the dirt, his black uniform soaking up every last drop from the grass, his face marked brown in the color of mud.  
_I’m going to die._  
Tears streamed down his eyes. He didn’t even bother to wipe them off, considering his face was already wet from the tears of the earth.  
_I’m_ _going to die._  
The boy squatted and stuck a hand out to Ouma. Ouma deliriously glanced up at him, his eyes shifting in and out of focus, his head at a tilt. The boy shone with a warm brilliance, such was the reason Ouma knew it deep in his heart.  
_I love this person._  
Ouma took his hand and the boy pulled him up with a mighty grip. Ouma soon realized that he was caked in a muddy sheen, and tried his best to timidly wipe it off.  
“Am I right?”  
Ouma wished he was back on the ground. He looked off to the side, trying to hide his expression.  
“Yeah.”  
The boy also looked off to the side.  
“I see…” He smiled, looking back at Ouma. It was warm and sweet, but fake, like biting into cheap candy. “Don’t be like that. Crushes are the finest form of flattery, you know? That means you think about them all the time, never even considering their flaws. You think about me like that, don’t you?”  
“Um…Yeah…”  
He put one foot forwards, leaning towards.  
“Have you ever… _thought_ …about me?”  
Ouma looked back at him, his eyes widening in concern.  
“… _Thought_?”  
The boy took a step to Ouma and grabbed his hands. Ouma struggled to flee, but the boy’s strength prevailed. His hands were smooth and dry against Ouma’s dewy, clammy hands.  
“Have you ever jacked off to me?”  
Ouma froze, nothing in his body cooperating. He knew what he meant, but he simply refused to comprehend the words that were spoken. It took a second for his body to return online.  
“U-Uh…”  
_Lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie—_  
“Yes!”  
Ouma’s shout resonated throughout the park, making others to glance at the duo, before continuing on with their lives. The voice in Ouma’s head stopped droning, if only for that second.  
_That wasn’t a lie._  
Ouma hastily tried covered his mouth in an attempt to cover his words, but with no avail, as the boy held them there. It was then that the boy who stopped working. For the first time, those lips parted in shock. They then formed a smile. He let go of Ouma’s wrists and whisked around, letting Ouma only to look at his back.  
“Wow. Truly amazing. Gay _and_ a perv.” He turned back around and partially closed his eyes, mocking him. “What would your family say? Your school? Your friends?” He laughed. “Oh who am I kidding, of course you’d have no friends.”  
The tears on Ouma’s face never stopped, and they only continued with those words. The only difference is that he tried to wipe the snot away.  
“I have…fri…”  
He sunk back to the grass, letting out a loud noise reminiscent of a howling goose. The rivers of pity flooded the gates of his eyes.  
“Eh? That was just a joke. I didn’t actually think you were a loner.”  
Ouma sniffled.  
“…Really?”  
“Yeah.”  
Ouma stood up. He smiled a pathetic smile, laughing a pathetic laugh. He tried to close the floodgates, but they remained partially open.  
“Even if you say it’s just a joke, it not too far off. I really am disgusting. Just look at me.”  
The boy did. And indeed did he see another disgusting boy. One with a soul as thick and black as tar, and the other just covered in mud.  
The boy laughed, a honest, hearty laugh.  
“You’re funny.”  
_Funny? How?_  
“How about a deal? I’ll let you take as many pictures of me as you want and you do a couple things for me.”  
_Huh?_  
“Like what…?”  
The smile faded. Turns out the laugh was a lie.  
“I see you think you have a choice in the matter. I was joking about you being alone. Not about being a gay perv.”  
The boy stuck his face right in front of Ouma’s, their noses almost touching. His words still pricked like a thorn, but Ouma was growing used to it.  
“I can ruin you. Don’t tempt me.”  
Ouma thought he was growing used to it.  
Ouma took a step back and his putrid face clenched in terror.  
“I’ll do anything you say.”  
The boy clasped his hands together, in pure glee, a mood swing so violent, Ouma was shocked that no one was lashed.  
“You’ll do anything for the one you love! How sweet!”  
“…Love?”  
“That’s why you took the photo, right?” He giggled. “Well, I mean you admitted to touching your dick thinking about me. Or was it your butt? Ah, well, doesn’t really matter.”  
“I…”  
“You didn’t think I’d be like this? Well, let me tell you one thing: You have the absolute worst luck in the world.”  
Immediately, the harshness ended. The smile and laugh returned.  
“Before you do anything crazy, I guess I should tell you a bit about myself. My name is Saihara Shuuichi. Where I go to school in unimportant, but I want to be a detective. I don’t hate you, or anyone else, nor do I love anyone, and I never will. I think people are pretty interesting in general and I like seeing other’s reactions. No one has ever had a crush on me before, so I just wanted to play with you for a bit.”  
The radiance returned. He felt it again. This was the person Ouma loved.  
Saihara continued, “Sorry if I got you dirty. Or maybe you already were?”  
_Maybe I do need to watch out for myself._  
Ouma sighed and looked at his feet.  
“I’m Ouma Kokichi. I go to the school down the block. I go to this park a lot and I saw you here one day. I just watched you and then I just couldn’t stop looking. I know it sounds kinda odd, but I want to be a comedian. If I could just make people laugh, maybe I could make the world a better place. That’s just what I think, anyways.”  
Saihara was looking down at a phone typing something.  
“That’s admirable in a way.”  
_Hey, that’s mine._  
Saihara tossed it to Ouma.  
“I’ll text you the instructions. Please delete them once you’re done.”  
“But can’t they still track that sort of thing?"  
“It’s not fun if we have no way of losing.”  
“I see…”  
Saihara waved to Ouma, wishing his farewell.  
“Well I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Ouma-chan,” he said, walking off into the white nothingness of the rest of the city.  
Ouma stood there, alone all again, just like he had for the rest of his life. He realized then and there why. This fluttery feeling in his chest. This pump of adrenaline and lust. It was in essence a strong, powerful thing, something that anyone could easily identify.  
_This must be what fun is._


	2. Chapter 2

When Ouma returned to his house, he noticed that he received a text. Emboldened in grey text, it read, **Saturday, meet me back at the park after you get out of school. Tell your parents that you’re having a sleepover. We’re going to be out all night. Bring clothes. Don’t mention me to anyone and don’t forget to delete these texts.  
—Saihara**  
Saturday was in three days, so Ouma sighed in relief. Luckily, his parents weren’t too monitoring, so he could easily come up with some sort of excuse.  
_They’ll just be happy that I’ll be with friends._  
Ouma’s only concern was that Saihara was going to do something stupid.  
_Or at least something illegal._  
A few minutes after the first text, Ouma got another one. It read, **Before I forget, don’t talk to me outside of our meetups. It’s for safety purposes.  
—Saihara**  
Ouma was a bit disappointed that he wouldn't be able to do anything with Saihara, but he figured with a sigh that it maybe was for the best.  
Ouma just had one question on his mind.  
_Why does he keep signing these?_

When Saturday arised, Ouma did as he was told and walked to the park from school. It wasn’t too far and Ouma was early, but he walked with a brisk gait and a nervous face. He was shaking and sweating all over. As he walked, he wiped his hands on his uniform’s pants legs.  
_Why am I so on-edge? It’s just Saihara._  
It’s Saihara.  
_It’s Saihara._  
When he took a step into the gate of the park, his heart and body were quivering. He clutched the straps of his backpack. After all, this person was the only one to know the _true_ Ouma. His only love was the one to truly  _know_ him. That means a lot. And when something means a lot (with the addition of them actually being mean), you’re going to want to make a good impression.  
When Saihara laid eyes on him, Saihara sighed.  
“Ouma-chan. You’re a nervous wreck. Please stop.”  
“S-S-St-top? I-I-I-I-I’m n-n-not n-nerv—”  
Saihara put a hand on Ouma’s mouth. It was cold.  
“Please. Please shut up.”  
“Mpha, pmmh.”  
_Yes, sir._  
Saihara removed his hand and adjusted his hat. He began to walk away, and Ouma caught on that he was supposed to follow him.  
“We’re going hunting.”  
Ouma stopped walking for a second, feeling the cool breeze hit him in the face. It took a second for Ouma to register those words, considering how nonchalantly Saihara had said them.  
“Hunting?”  
“Yeah.”  
Saihara didn’t stop when Ouma did, so Ouma had to sprint to catch up.  
“Like killing animals?”  
Saihara’s eyebrows furrowed into a frustrated expression.  
“No. Are you an idiot? Of course we aren’t killing animals. We’re hunting people.”  
The blood in Ouma’s face vanished and the stutter returned.  
“P-P-P-People? K-Killing people?”  
Saihara groaned this time. He was astonished by Ouma’s thorough stupidity.  
“No. We’re just going to play around with them.”  
“Oh, okay.”  
Ouma looked downwards, watching his feet as he walked. Saihara stopped and Ouma ran into him. Saihara gave Ouma a sour expression and Ouma shrank back into his body. A sound from a car beeped and Saihara opened the door, stepping into the driver’s seat.  
“You already have a license?” Ouma’s voice was but a whimper.  
“Nope. Get in.”  
“But…”  
Saihara looked at him, and Ouma was expecting an annoyed expression, but instead he heard a soft laugh. Although it was a calm laugh, something about it settled Ouma in the wrong way. It felt off, like a creepy painting. Honestly, Ouma would have prefered the look of annoyance.  
“If you think that me driving without a license is bad, you’re going to have a fun time.”  
Ouma’s heart began to beat a bit faster, and not because he was in love.  
“…Fun time?”  
“Get in the car,” Saihara snapped back.  
Ouma did as he was told.

They drove for what seemed like an eternity to Ouma. That was most likely because Saihara didn’t say a word and Ouma was still shaking from before. Ouma’s whole body had become stiff in an instant, like an unoiled machine, until he finally decided to speak.  
“Um, Saihara-kun—”  
“That’s Saihara-sama to you.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“Saihara-sama—”  
Saihara laughed as if there was no tension between the two. It filled the lack of sound in the car, but the void of silence was still there. Saihara evidently didn’t like to listen to music while driving illegally.  
“I didn’t actually think you’d say it. It’s just a joke, Ouma-chan. Call me whatever you’d like. Fuckwad, dickbag, asshat, I don’t care. It’s just a name.”  
“…So then, Saihara-kun—”  
“And you go with the boring one. Predictable.”  
Ouma looked downwards, at the legs of his uniform. The salty sweat he rubbed there was drying away, leaving it ruffled and coarse.  
_It’s pointless to talk, isn’t it? He just keeps interrupting me anyways._  
They continued the car ride in true silence, not even a word, until Saihara pulled into a parking spot. Ouma looked up and finally gathered how far they had driven. Trees and bushes scattered the landscape. They were off the side of the road, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  
_This is a campground…isn’t it?_  
Saihara smiled warmly and patted the salt off Ouma’s legs.  
“We’re here.”

Saihara made Ouma unpack everything as he found a spot that they’d place their tent on. After that, he made Ouma set up the tent. Then, he made Ouma find the firewood. During that whole time, Saihara was looking around for something. He would come back covered in dirt and mud, slightly frustrated and muttering inconsequentially about something.  
Ouma sat on one of the foldable chairs he had unloaded from the car, and finally decided to ask Saihara.  
“What are you looking for?”  
Saihara smiled brilliantly, beaming at what seemed to be his success.  
“Well, I was looking for our target. Now that I’ve found her, you don’t need to worry.”  
Ouma’s face shriveled up in concern. He may have ‘felt’ things for Saihara, but he didn’t truly know him. He didn’t know what he was capable of. Ouma had to worry for this person. What kinds of things could Saihara have in store for them?  
“…What are we going to do to them?”  
Saihara adjusted the rim of his cap.  
“Well, first, we’re just going to observe her. Then we’ll play a game of cat and mouse.”  
“…And then what?”  
“Well we all know what happens to the cat when its curiosity got the better of it.”  
Ouma wiped his forehead from the sweat that was beginning to gather on it, but due to the sweat on his hands, he made it only worse.  
“So we’re the mice?”  
“Yeah. Seemingly soft and innocent, useful as a lure.” Saihara bit his lip in disdain. “Maybe I should have used fish as an analogy?”  
Ouma laughed awkwardly as a retort.  
Saihara went over to his bag to fetch something from it.  
“Think fast.”  
He grabbed a small TV-like device and threw it at Ouma, who just barely managed to get a grip on it, due to the viscosity of his clammy hands. Ouma looked down at it and flicked the switch on. The light shocked him.  
“What is this?”  
“A PS Vita. It’s got two games on it. Playing them is vital.”  
“Danganronpa…”  
“Yeah. That’s it.”  
“Why?”  
“Just shut up and play them.”

The day turned into night and Ouma lie in his sleeping bag next to Saihara’s. That same Saihara wouldn’t tell Ouma anything of his plans or their so called ‘target’ until Ouma finished playing those two games. He was just on the fourth trial, with the death of Sakura.  
_Danganronpa. It scares me. I feel like Naegi in a way. Frightened and confused. I do feel like this is something Saihara would like, though. He said that he likes seeing people’s reactions to things. Even to death, I guess._  
Ouma looked at Saihara in the face, as it was right next to his. He could feel the small breaths the boy took as he was fast asleep. He was perturbed on how such a pure looking person like this could be someone so cruel. When he first saw Saihara, he thought he’d be the person of his dreams.  
_That isn’t exactly wrong, though it’s more of a nightmare._  
As Ouma thought about it that night, he began to realize that he still loved Saihara. He looked at the nape of Saihara’s neck, the smoothness of his skin, the three dots right below his eyes…He was beautiful. Even that strand of hair that dangles down when he doesn’t wear his cap, Ouma began to remember what all started this infatuation. Ouma’s imagination began to go wild as his mind came up with lucrative scenarios about Saihara doing all sorts of things to him.  
_I could touch him right now._  
Something within Ouma began to swell and he began to feel a nervous itch between his legs.  
_Shit! No! Why did I do this? He’s right there! He’s—_  
Saihara’s eyes burst open in a second and met with Ouma’s. They looked straight into each other for a solid minute, the purple against the black. Saihara spoke in a whisper. It was a soft whisper, not rude or harsh in any way. It was an honest tone that spoke the truth.  
“You need help with that?”  
Ouma blinked a couple times, letting the silky words make their way into his ear and settle down into his brain.  
“Help with what?”  
“Your boner.”  
Ouma was left just to blink again until his face overheated with sheer embarrassed might.  
“How could you even…”  
“It’s obvious.” Saihara sat up drearily, unzipping the sleeping bag in the process. “Just let me take care of it.”  
Ouma sat up with speed. “No! I mean…” His voice trailed off into nothingness.  
Saihara pouted.  
“Like I’ve said before. No one has ever had a crush on me before, so I’ve never had the chance to see how other react sexually. I mean, there’s porn, but that’s not exactly gospel truth. Anyways, I thought you said you masturbated to me. Are you really going to let a chance like this pass by?”  
Ouma pressed his lips against each other, weighing his options. His expression shifted dozens of times as he thought about the consequences of letting Saihara suck his dick.  
_I must look so pitiful right now. What kind of situation even is this?_  
Saihara slumped down back into his bag lazily when he realized that Ouma couldn’t make a decision.  
“You’re too cute.” Ouma’s face flared red and he turned to look away. “Even though you’re kinda pathetic, I think you’re turning me into a shotacon.” He rubbed Ouma’s head, like how a child would to a puppy. “Go deal with it on your own.” He turned around, covering himself more in his sleeping bag, presumably to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So about last night…"  
> "If you had said yes, I would have bitten it."  
> "…"


	3. Chapter 3

The morning was the most awkward thing in Ouma’s life, but Saihara didn’t mention anything, so Ouma knew better than to bring it up. Saihara had other plans for how their day would pass and he had no time for any unnecessary drama.  
“Where are you?”  
Ouma looked around at the forest around them, thoroughly confused.  
“Right here?”  
Saihara began to bawl with laughter, practically falling over. Once he was done, he wiped a metaphorical tear away and rebalanced himself.  
“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.” Ouma’s face shot red. “I mean in Danganronpa.”  
_Oh, duh._  
“I just started the second game.”  
Saihara jumped up very close to Ouma with a cat-like grin.  
“First impression?”  
“Um…The cast certainly is more colorful than the last game…” When Saihara didn’t stop, Ouma realized that he wanted more. “I like Tsumiki, a bit.” _Because she’s like me._ “And I think Komaeda’s going to be a good friend to Hinata.”  
Once again, Saihara split open with laughter. He actually did fall this time, rather ungracefully. He slammed his fist on the dirt, getting his black uniform slightly dusted up. Ouma looked around, with a worried expression.  
“D-Don’t you think that’s a bit loud?”  
Saihara stood up straight, strikingly quick, and calmed his expression with the same pace. He adjusted his hat, as it had tilted from the fall, and patted down his jacket.  
“No. She’s too far away to hear us.” The smile returned. “Oh, and sorry about that. Your commentary is funny.”  
Ouma shuffled a bit. It was time for him to ask. He didn’t want to, but it was necessary at this point.  
“Um…Who is ‘she’? Is she our target?”  
Saihara put his thumb to his chin, as if he was considering some astronomical life question.  
“Hm…Yeah. I think it’s alright to tell you now.”  
Ouma shuffled, worrying.  
“Alright to tell me?”  
Saihara sighed, with all his might. This was going to be a long, boring exposition, wasn’t it?  
“You played through DR1, right?”  
“…DR1?” _Ah, Danganronpa 1._ “Yeah.”  
“Remember Ishimaru Kiyotaka?”  
Ouma nodded timidly.  
“Well, someone’s a fan, and we’re going to fuck with them.”  
“…A fan?”  
“Yeah. Danganronpa’s still going, you know? They just finished their 52nd season just last month.”  
“That many games?!”  
Saihara began to pick at his ear.  
“Nah, it turned into a reality TV show in the 15th season.”  
“You must be a fan, too.”  
Saihara turned away, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge something.  
“Yeah. I am. I love Danganronpa. I want to enter someday.” He turned back to Ouma and smiled, a fake plastic smile. “But now’s not the time for that. We need track our target.”  
“Ah, okay.”  
_Did Saihara say that wants to…join…Danganronpa? Maybe it’s the production team. Even still, it bothers me. So far, Saihara hasn’t tried to brush any topic away. He always seems to be in control of the conversation. Maybe if I need to get an edge on him, I can bring it up. Wait! No! That’s horrible. Only as a trump card, then._  
“Ouma-chan! What are you doing! C’mon!”  
“O-Oh! Sorry!”

When they reached their target’s camp, Saihara had the two of them hide behind a large rock. Saihara ordered Ouma to wait there with a giddy tone, then walked around the rock, to the side of the small tent on the other side. Saihara’s voice echoed throughout the forest.  
“It’s you again.”  
_That’s not Saihara._  
“Well, my camp’s just by the river over there. I thought I’d stop by. If you’re not busy, of course,” spoke the second voice, this time, Ouma was sure it was Saihara. The first voice, a woman’s voice, was harsh and stern, yet there was something innocently sweet about it that Ouma couldn’t quite put his finger on. She spoke again.  
“Do what you want.”  
Saihara sighed in relief.  
“And so I will.”

 

After a couple hours of polite talking, Saihara returned to Ouma. As Ouma hadn’t gotten very much sleep the night before, he decided to slump up against the rock in the time Saihara was gone. Saihara kicked him gently to wake him up.  
“Our plan starts when the sun sets.”  
Although Ouma was still dreary, he was hesitant because knew that Saihara was ruthless in every way. Surely this was no exception.  
“…Plan?”  
“Yeah. Just do what I say, and you’ll be good.” He flicked on his phone to check the time. “We still have about an hour. Let’s just wait here.”  
Ouma nodded reluctantly. Saihara smiled.  
“Want some jam?”  
“…Jam?”  
Saihara pulled out a piece of bread and a knife with crimson jam on it. Ouma stared at it for a second before taking it. He looked up at Saihara, as if to make sure it was okay to eat it.  
“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
Ouma looked at the knife. It looked sharp.  
“But this isn’t a spreading knife…”  
Saihara’s eyes glared daggers, much sharper than the one Ouma held in his hand.  
“It’s a knife. Deal with it.”  
Ouma shrank down back into the rock. Saihara plopped down next to him as he at his piece of bread. They waited until the brink of darkness and Saihara stood, dusting himself off. Ouma followed suit and Saihara adjusted his cap.  
“It’s time.”  
Ouma nervously licked his lips and tightened his face.  
_What are we going to do? This plan is worrying me._  
“Ouma-chan. You have three orders. 1. Follow me. 2. Never let go of that knife.”  
_…The knife?_  
“…What about the third?”  
Saihara smiled instead of giving a response.  
“Uh…alright then…”  
Ouma did as he was told and followed each of Saihara’s steps into the camp of their target, going so far as to match each step with him, so that their sound would not be present. Ouma was shivering in anticipation. He didn’t like meeting new people, less girls as mean as she had sounded. So he was relieved to find that she wasn’t here.  
“She’s not here?”  
“She’s cleaning up in the river. This is our only chance.”  
_For what?_  
Saihara pointed to a crate to their left.  
“Go check that one.”  
Ouma nodded and went off to the crate, taking off the piece of wood and setting it on the ground next to him. Inside was nothing but food, water, and other various supplies. As he dug through it, a pang of guilt stung through him.  
_I’m sorry, Miss. I don’t exactly want to do this._  
Not finding anything, he turned his attention to the tent Saihara seemed to have entered. He pulled the fabric back and made his way inside.  
His eyes turned pale and his whole body froze in an instant. A cold layer of the arctic snow made him shiver and tremble. No. That’s not what it was. It was fear. Yes. That’s what it was.  
**3\. Run**  
That was written on the side of the tent in shimmering pink, the blood from the person below it. He lied lamely, lopped aside like a ragdoll. There was a hole cut into his chest, oozing and gushing with rosy juices.  
Ouma stood, a tear making its way down his face. That tear was filled to the brim with salt, fear, and hate.  
_It’s Saihara._  
What followed shortly was a scream that could reach the heavens. Ouma fell onto his knees, his eyes not escaping the body for a second.  
_The three commands. Run? I need to run? I need to run from what?_  
The tent flap opened for a third time and Ouma looked around to see who it was. As the sun had been setting, the darkness made it hard to tell who it was. It was a woman with bright blonde hair. She wore her uniform modestly, and Ouma could tell she was an honest person. Only now, things were different.  
“Y-You. You…”  
_Run, huh. I think I know what to run from._  
Ouma turned immediately to the side and thrust the knife into the wall of the tent, cutting a large tear into it, large enough to escape from. Before Ouma could tell he was moving, he felt the sharp hit of wind smack himself in the face. Then he knew. He was running. And Ouma ran sloppily, his arms flailing, his feet barely making it safely on the ground, but he still ran. He ran until he was sure the woman could not follow him. He ran until the brink of the river, where he collapsed and fell onto the muddy rocks, scraping and covering his body in a wet sheen of brown paint.  
Ouma lie there, face down, in the mud. His eyes blurred as the whole world began to fade. The wind brushed against his back as he lie there. Everything moved around him, and Ouma became just another rock by the river. His own tears added water to the stream, salty, against the fresh water that rolled past his head. His whole body was saturated with the thick, damp mud that he began to sink into, like quicksand. Nothing in his body moved as he accepted the reality of what had happened.  
A soft tap gently tapped Ouma’s body, stirring him slightly. He didn’t even bother to look up. Ouma didn’t care what it was; it didn’t matter. Saihara was dead. It takes some time for that to sink in.  
The tap became more of a hit, and Ouma reeled over in pain, finally bringing his face out of the mud. He tried to wipe the grime off of his face, but it only became worse, as his sleeves had also been covered in grime. Everything was blurry, but he blinked rapidly once his brain registered the color of bright pink. Of blood.  
A figure wearing all black was looking rather pretty in pink.  
“Ouma. Get up.”  
Ouma got up.  
“S…Saihara?”  
Saihara raised a brow.  
“Wow. No honorific. I’m proud of you, Ouma-chan.”  
Ouma took a limping step forwards and put both of his palms on Saihara. Saihara didn’t flinch, but wasn’t used to the feeling of someone touching him. He didn’t quite like it.  
“You’re alive.”  
“Yes. I am.”  
“…”  
“You look like a troll right now.”  
Ouma dropped his hands and looked at himself. The mud was beginning to dry into cracked lines.  
“Yeah. I should wash off.” Ouma laughed timidly. “You don’t look too great, either.”  
Saihara laughed fully, pulling off his jacket. “Yeah. Good thing there’s a river here.”  
Ouma was too deep into thought to notice the jacketlessness of Saihara, and instead began to question his motives.  
“How?”  
“How’s there a river here? Well, isn’t that obvious?”  
“…That was your plan then?”  
Saihara pouted. “Aw…I wanted to see you stumble around it. Not fun, Ouma-chan.”  
“Well, now, I get you faked your death, but there’s just so much that doesn’t line up. The rules, the realism, the girl…everything…”  
“Well, you failed the first rule. That’s why this all happened.”  
Ouma furrowed his brow.  
“How? I followed you the whole time.”  
“Not into the tent. If this were Danganronpa, I wouldn’t be here.”  
_Danganronpa again, huh. He’s really quite obsessed._  
“Then the blood?”  
“Pepto-Bismol. You’d be surprised how realistic diarrhea medicine can be.” Saihara put a hand to his chin. “Oh yeah, before we go in, where’s my knife?”  
“Oh, over…There?”  
Saihara waved the air.  
“That’s fine.”  
It suddenly hit Ouma and his mouth opened slowly and he thrust his head up at Saihara. A wave of adrenaline washed over him, drowning him in an ocean of shivers and sweat.  
“The jam! It was pink, too! You made her think I did it!”  
A line split Saihara’s face. It was thin, yet honest and true, making it all the more horrid. It was the kind of expression that even a child would know to fear. He clasped his hands together with putrid glee.  
“Bingo! Just like Danganronpa. Like I said, she’s a fan. It really would be such a great murder. Well, suicide, if I had gone through with it.” He licked his lips. “You look very suspicious, all covered in mud, Ouma-chan. Let’s go wash off.”  
Ouma once again realized his predicament, but Saihara had already begun to remove his jacket, and hat. Ouma adored that small strand of hair that stuck up. He figured it was a shame that he kept it hidden away.  
All thoughts of Saihara’s ahoge vanished when he took off his shirt, all covered in blood. Ouma’s eyes widened, not hesitating for a single second. Something resonated deeply within him. _Saihara is…without a shirt, he’s…he’s…_  
Saihara, on the other hand, hesitated taking off his pants, mid-leg.  
“What are you doing? Hurry up.”  
Ouma blinked about fifty times and began to take off his own clothing, revealing his pale body. He tried his best to cover his peach-colored nipples with his arms, but much like most women, forgot to cover the other part, relegating one hand to his crotch, and the other to do the task of two.  
Saihara laughed confidently, like how he presented himself here.  
“Lighten up. Your skin needs it. You’ll get rickets.”  
Ouma looked off to the side, avoiding all eye contact with Saihara. This whole situation was beginning to overwhelm himself. First, he looked through someone’s things, then Saihara died, then now he’s skinny dipping with him in a river at night. That would make anyone feel uneasy, but much more so to Ouma, considering his affection towards the person he was trying to avoid looking at.  
It was rather enthralling to Ouma to see Saihara like that in the moonlight. It was something someone would expect out of a romance novel, except for the expression on Saihara’s face. He was, in essence, satisfied with something. Despite that, something didn’t quite settle right with him. It was a terrifying wolf-like expression that howled of blood and tears, like the pink streaks that still ran down his neck.  
And Ouma felt that. It was a terrifying feeling, like a rabbit, frozen in time, petrified before the predator's jagged maw.  
But _oh, was it exhilarating._  
The adrenaline washed over him with a wave of heat, against the cool of the real water that surrounded his legs. His heart began to race and he smiled, too, understanding the wolf a little more. They had just staged a murder, hadn’t they? They were going to get away with it, weren’t they? That girl, she was going to do something, wasn’t she?  
Ouma was excited. He simply couldn’t help but smile.  
But the fear overwhelmed him again when Saihara walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. That satisfaction swung on its head and it became a look as cool as the moonlight that hit him in the back of the head.  
“What’s so funny?”  
The smile vanished and was hastily replaced with a grimace. Saihara pushed him into the river and lie above him, commanding.  
“Answer me!”  
Ouma tried to cover his face with his arms.  
“I’m...I’m sorry. I-It’s just that…”  
“It’s just that what, Ouma?”  
Ouma kept the arms across his face. He couldn’t bear the gaze.  
“I had fun.”  
Saihara blinked once, his entire expression changed from a hunter into something much softer. He stared right into Ouma, but Ouma didn’t tremble this time. He understood.  
Saihara stood up quickly, removing his grasp from Ouma. He coughed.  
“Well, you must have had a lot of fun to have that again.”  
Ouma stood, covered now in water, and looked down.  
_Oh._  
…  
How long has that been there?  
As Ouma realized the severity of the situation, his face turned redder and redder, whipping around to hide any evidence of his sudden arousal. He stumbled around, just about falling back down into the river.  
Saihara laughed.  
“I’m impressed. Keeping that up in such cold water. You must really like me.”  
It took Ouma a second to respond, still turned away, he spoke softly.  
“Yeah. I do. I do really like you, Saihara-kun.”  
He flinched when he felt a cold hand placed onto his shoulder.  
“Good. I need your cooperation. Our plan has only just begun.”  
Hearing those words, Ouma did turn around, only to see Saihara smiling rather brilliantly.  
He, too, was having fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL Note: Keikaku means plan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> Sorry for the delay. Updates will not be frequent, but this fic is not abandonded  
> Thanks for the feedback, it's great to see what you guys think!  
> (;-;) <— Tears of joy
> 
> Also I recommend reading the tags again. This chapter gets uh…It's a slow burn.

So…um…um…Saihara—”  
“I told you to call me whatever you want. Saihara-kun’s too boring.”  
Ouma’s face flushed.  
“Sh-sh-sh-sh…”  
Saihara cocked a brow.  
“Shuichi-kun,” he spat out, hastily. “H-How’s that?”  
“Wow I'm impressed. You actually remembered my first name. Then again, that's to be expected from someone like you.”  
"What is that supposed to mean?"  
Turning the wheel gently, Saihara smiled.  
“Can I call you Koichi-chan then?”  
Ouma sat there for a second, confused. _Koichi? Where’d he get that from?_  
Saihra chuckled and smacked his head lightly.  
“It was Kokichi, wasn’t it?”  
“Uh, yeah. It is.”  
“Hm…Shuichi-kun feels too weird. Come up with something better.”  
Ouma sighed as his first name suggestion flew out of the window and onto the pavement racing by. The mood was generally a lot more pleasant compared to when they first drove there. Although the volume level was roughly the same, Ouma didn’t feel as if he was going to piss himself, and that’s always a good thing. It had been quite a while since Ouma had spent this long with someone else of his age. He wondered if it was the same for Saihara.  
“Don’t get too comfortable. I’ll still leak your shit to your mom if you do something stupid.”  
_Well that cut the mood instantly._  
Despite looking at the road with utmost confident, Ouma could tell that Saihara was glaring at him.  
“I can tell you’re getting more used to being around me. And while I’m going to take that as a compliment, that threatens me.” His eyes shot a bullet through Ouma’s chest. “And I don’t like being threatened.”  
Saihara calmed almost instantaneously, his mood whiplashes seemingly infinite.  
“Anyways, having such a tense mood isn’t good all the time. People tend to be more trusting when their more relaxed. That’s why prostitution rings always are good for moles.”  
_I’m really not sure what to think anymore...This life...I don’t know._  
For the rest of the car ride home, Ouma and Saihara sat in silence.

When Ouma went to school the next day, everything proceeded as normal. Ouma sat alone and nobody bothered him. He sat on a bench during his lunch, enjoying a small sandwich.  
“So you really are all alone.”  
Ouma looked up behind him.  
It was a very large man with piercing red eyes. His hair was a dark green, as if a natural moss has begun to dig its roots into his scalp. Small and rounded glasses rested upon his nose. He was peaceful, yet solemn, nothing but a straight face. Ouma shrank as soon as he laid eyes on him.  
“U-U-Uh...Hi.”  
His mouth was caught in a trap, unable to speak. The student, Ouma realized, looking at his uniform, outstretched his hand, to shake.  
“Nice to meet you, I’m Gokuhara Gonta. Feel free to just call me Gonta.”  
Ouma shook very meekly.  
“I’m uh, Ouma, nice to meet you, uh, too.”  
Gonta sat down next to Ouma and did absolutely nothing while Ouma took bites of his sandwich. As time went on, Ouma became more and more soaked in his own sweat. He was worried that it begin to smell, but he was so concerned, he didn’t care much.  
_Who is this person? What does he want with me? Did Saihara send him? He’s huge! I wonder what his dick looks like…_  
Ouma slapped himself.  
“Are you alright?”  
Ouma looked up at the towering figure and feared he was but a peasant compared to the dragon.  
“U-U-U-Uh, yeah, I’m fine.”  
Ouma looked down at his lap now, his sandwich completely gone. He now felt obligated to talk to this beast, but he didn’t. Instead, he stared, like the pathetic worm he was. Gonta smiled back at him, peacefully. It wasn’t a kind smile, mind you. It wasn’t pleasant or innocent or even happy; instead, it was plastered with a sort of lukewarm quality to it, like taking a big gulp of salt water to ease your throat.  
Ouma took that gulp and the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch. He stood up hurriedly said goodbye with a single word, then rushed off to class. Never had History been so nerve-wracking.

Ouma walked slowly to the park. Saihara was already sitting at the bench. He was on his phone, typing away at something.  
“Oh, hi there, Ouma-chan.”  
He didn’t even look up.  
“Hi, Saihara.”  
He looked up immediately, his eyes zipping around Ouma’s body. He smiled. Then, he smirked.  
“How was lunch?”  
Ouma began to shake, thinking about what had happened, then decided just to sit down next to Saihara.  
“Um…He’s a bit scary. Did you send him?”  
“Yup,” he proclaimed proudly. “He’s quite the character. I hope he didn’t disturb anyone around you.”  
Ouma put his hands up and shook them rapidly. “No! He was very kind and gentlemanly!” He looked down at his pants. “He was very quiet the whole time.” Now, back at Saihara. “Why did you send him?”  
Saihara’s brow furrowed intensely.  
“Quiet, you say?”  
“Yeah, he just kinda sat there.”  
“And was his name Momota Kaito?”  
“It was uh…Gokuhara…”  
Saihara stared at Ouma, dead. His face held no life, instead, it was a sort of gaze, without any sort of movement. Ouma figured that he was just thinking, but he was also worried that he would fall over on him, just like a dead man would.  
Slowly, his lips moved.  
“Well fuck.”  
Ouma began to shiver, as if Saihara had passed his death onto him, and Ouma was fighting to keep himself alive. Suddenly, Saihara thrust life back into himself and twitched his head, aligning it back to normal. He acted as if nothing had happened. Ouma, confused, decided to speak up.  
“Who is Gonta-kun, then?”  
Saihara blinked before he decided to register Ouma’s words as having been spoken. He took a second to collect his thoughts. He groaned, annoyed.  
“I didn't want to explain any of this because it's horribly annoying, but I guess I have to now that this crap has shown up.”  
“W-What crap?”  
“Gokuhara-san and I are fans of two different things. Both conflict. So naturally, we decided to play a game. I’m going to win, obviously.”  
Ouma furrowed his brow, not satisfied with that.  
“What kind of game?”  
“Danganronpa, moron. This is all just practice. I’m going to win.”  
_Is this what he meant by ‘join’? Actually play…real…Danganronpa? Is that even poss—_  
“Gokuhara-san, he…He doesn’t even like Danganronpa, really.”  
_Huh?_  
“He’s a fan of that manga, Death Note. He wants to play that kind of game. So we settled for a compromise.”  
_Huuuh?_  
“He wants to be Kira, and I wanted to be Kirigiri, so we’re going to try to kill each other.”  
_Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh?_  
“I’m sorry, I’m not following any of this.”  
Saihara laughed and stuck his hands out into the air, jovially.  
“Well that’s just my headcanon, anyways. Wouldn’t that be fun?” He put his arms down, keeping the smile. “I actually have no idea what his intentions are. I've never met him, I don't even know what looks like.” His smile turned into a grimace. “Anyways, it sucks that the king was so close in this game of chess. Was not expecting that.” His eyebrows perked up and he stood, suddenly. “Maybe he fell for my trap. That would be nice.”  
Ouma, still sitting, looked around panicked, wondering if anyone was looking at them. They weren’t.  
“And what was your trap?”  
Saihara placed his hand on his face and groaned excessively loud. Someone looked over.  
“Figure it out, dipshit. I’m not going to spoonfeed it to you, even if you’d probably find that hot. All the evidence is there. String all the pearls and make a necklace. A shitstained necklace.”  
Ouma looked down at his legs and clutched his pants in his fists.  
“Don’t you think that telling me would benefit you? Then I could help you…uh…with whatever it is that you’re doing.”  
“Help me? Wow. Stockholm Syndrome really is a thing. Unless, of course, you’re just doing this so that you can get out quick. You know, I don’t really care about you. Sure, it could help. But having you follow all my orders is pretty fun. Plus, if I want an assistant, they’d need to be smart enough to at least figure this out. This is pretty obvious. This is easy-modo.”  
_E-Easy modo? What is that a reference to?_  
_No. I shouldn’t be concerned with that right now. I need to figure out what trap Saihara layed out for Gonta-kun. All the evidence must be there if he’s so sure I can figure it out…_  
Why…Why do I even care? I don’t want to help Saihara with his plan to…do whatever it is that he wants…Do I…  
Ouma looked up at Saihara and blinked at him gently, taking in all his features. To Ouma, Saihara was just his type. He liked other types of men, as well, but Saihara…He was just right. Pale skin, soft, squishy, yet hard and overpowering and with eyes that could pierce any shield.  
But did Ouma love Saihara for his looks? Surely there was more. And as Ouma looked, he began to realize that he was wrong.  
Ouma realized that he was wrapped around Saihara’s finger. No. He knew that for a long time.  
Ouma realized that he was doing this because he loved to be overpowered with those piercing eyes, he loved to lie, cheat, and kill, and he loved this _fun_.  
Ouma knew that he could let loose and have everything explode and no one would care. That his life would be perpetually on the edge and that Saihara would be the one to tilt him.  
_It’s exhilarating._  
He was going to solve this truth behind the trap, no matter what.  
He sighed and collected his thoughts.  
“I think…I think I’ve figured it out.”  
Saihara cocked a brow.  
“Oh?”  
Ouma cleared his throat.  
“So, you haven’t mentioned Gonta-kun once throughout this entire time, which leads me to believe that you don’t see him as a direct threat.”  
“Ooh, keep going.”  
“Okay…Well...Just so you know, he’s kinda a big guy, he’s—”  
Saihara put up his hands quickly, covered his ears, and began screaming like a car siren.  
“Spoilers! That’s the mastermind right there! Don’t say that!” He let up when Ouma shut up. “Just tell me my plan. Bitches love hearing their own plans. It’s their favorite.”  
_Did...Did Saihara just call himself a...bitch?_  
You know, I’m not going to question that one.  
“A-Anyways, you seemed to somehow provoked Gonta-kun into playing this sort of...practice game for Danganronpa, without even meeting him. Which means that…” Ouma’s eyes sparked up. “That girl! Was she your...Calling card?”  
Saihara stared back at Ouma, giving him a mocking look, as if it were stupid to ask a question. Ouma should know better at this point. An overwhelming feeling overtook Ouma and began to shiver when he realized that he forgot what he was going to say next. Noticing this, Saihara decided to smile and add, “No, keep going. It’s good.”  
Ouma smiled back.  
“Well..uh...That girl must have been working for Gonta-kun, or at least conspiring with him...No...They _could_ only be acquaintances for all I know. Either way, by making her think I killed you, she sent a message to Gonta-kun.”  
A shiver ran down Ouma’s spine.  
_But would that Gonta-kun do that._  
“Yes. That was the meaning behind your trap.”  
Saihara’s smile vanished and he began to toy with his fingernail.  
“You...missed something in that.”  
“...What.”  
“I dunno’. I thought that was your job, Mr. Detective.”  
_...You always seemed like the detective._  
“Do I?”  
_What?_  
“Uh...Was it the thing about the guy you originally sent at me?  
“Well, that, and something big. You _did_ mention it. But I have proof.”  
“...”  
“Well, looks like you’re not going to get it.”  
Saihara sighed.  
“Saihara, Wait!”  
Ouma stuck his hand out and Saihara’s expression slowed, like tar drying.  
“I...I...I think I know what you’re talking about. It has to do with that girl, right?”  
Saihara shrugged.  
“Well, she was working for Gonta-kun, wasn’t she?”  
“Is, you mean.”  
Ouma smiled, unconfidently.  
“Well...She didn’t call us to the cops. Why didn’t she?”  
Saihara stood up. He took a pace forwards and leaned over towards Ouma and crept his head to Ouma’s ear. He spoke softly, as if speaking harshly would shatter the poor world’s innocence.  
“Because she’s a bitch. And if her plan ain’t yelled out, she ain’t gettin’ it.”  
_What?_  
“You mean…”  
“What she does is what Gokuhara-san does. Watch. That. Girl.”  
He leap back, smirked, then sat right back down.  
“I have to watch her?”  
Saihara clapped, proudly.  
“Precisely! You catch on quick. Not.” _Mood whiplash. Not surprised._ “I like you, Ouma." _Aaaand we're back. How sarcastic._   _But…_ _He...He dropped the honorific..._  
“Well, all you said was about right. Iruma Miu was just my ruse in order to bring the dragon out. Or the king. Whichever metaphor you prefer. She didn’t call the cops because that’s what this game is to the two of us, you know. You missed one big thing, though. Although, it is impossible for you to know.” Saihara furrowed his brow, annoyed. “Actually, where is that fucker?”  
_What fucker?_  
Saihara whipped out his phone and dialed someone very hurriedly.  
“Fucking Momota Kaito! Get your ass over here!”  
There was some murmuring from the other side.  
“Now.”  
There was a whine and the conversation ended then and there. Saihara sat back down in his seat.  
“Any minute now.”  
About thirty seconds later, they were approached by another high schooler. He seemed confident, in a very unconfident sort of way. He was hunched over, obviously not concerned with his posture, and his hair was a mess. His uniform was all pulled out and his shirt was clearly not the one he was supposed to wear. He refused to make eye contact with Saihara.  
_Oh, so this is Momota-kun…_  
Saihara looked around, observing those in the park. Ouma checked, too. Mostly children and their parents.  
Saihara spoke softly, “Follow me.”  
They followed Saihara until they reached an area surrounded by trees, but still assuredly the park. Specifically, it was the small spot behind the bathrooms. When Saihara invited them into this secluded area, Momota hesitated before stepping in. When they were all settled, Saihara began his introduction.  
“Hello, Kaito, why don’t you introduce yourself.”  
He looked at Saihara, for the first time, but only with a flicker of his eyes. He took a breath, and the tension released itself. He didn’t smile, but his grimace was gone.  
“I’m Momota Kaito. Nice to meetcha’.”  
Ouma looked to Saihara for confirmation, who nodded.  
“Ouma Kokichi…Same…”  
Saihara clapped. “Well, now that that’s that, we can continue. I’m sure that for the both of you, this is a rather unorthodox relationship between you and I. And, that means that neither of you trust each other.” He smiled, deviously. “Now, tell each other why you’re helping me.”  
Ouma blinked.  
“What do you mean?’  
Saihara’s smile escaped from his face and he stood, deadpan.  
“Tell each other how the fuck I’m blackmailing you. If you both know the other’s shit, then we’ll all be a big happy family. Ouma, you’re the senior member, so you have to go first.”  
_I’m the senior member? So Momota-kun was blackmailed after me? But he calls him by his first name…_  
I guess I have to go first...  
“I...I tried to take a photo of Saihara.”  
Saihara glared back at Ouma, with a piercing gaze.  
“I tried to take one without his permission because I...because...um...I uh...I…”  
_Just say it, goddamn it!_  
Ouma took a deep breath and parted his lips slowly.  
“I like Saihara.”  
Momota’s expression was deadpan for a second before he let out a chuckle.  
“Wow. What a faggot.”  
Ouma looked down at his feet. He felt, in the fullness of the word, defeated. Did he expect this kind of response? Of course. But to hear it so plainly just stung for the poor boy. When Saihara said it, it hurt, of course, but from him, it felt more of a plaything than its true meaning. Here, Ouma knew that Momota meant what he said.  
“Don’t get too cocky, Kaito. It’s your turn.”  
Momota’s face turned pale once he realized the implications behind this. He looked off to the side and scratched his cheek.  
“...I’m not saying anything,” he began to murmur.  
“Hm? What?”  
He began to shout, his words filling with a fierce venom and spite. Unlike Saihara’s words, his carried a certain brute, blunt force that could hit you in the face and break your nose.  
“Shut the fuck up! I don’t want to tell this stupid fag! How the fuck would that do anything! God, I hate this!”  
Saihara looked at Momota with half of a glare.  
“You tell him what you did.”  
Momota confidentally put his hands on his hips.  
“No. Fuck you.”  
Saihara turned to look at him completely. Momota took a step back.  
It was at this moment that Ouma realized the true difference between Momota and Saihara’s words. It wasn’t the piercing tone, or manic whiplashes. It wasn’t the burning or the acid in his tongue.  
_It’s that Saihara has power._  
Saihara took a step forwards and launched his fist into Momota’s stomach. He could have blocked, but Ouma knew why he didn’t. Momota fell to his knees with a shout, coughing and groaning.  
“Hey! What the hell was that f—”  
Saihara kicked him in the jaw. Momota’s body was flung to its side and he smashed against the dirt. He was stuck in that dirt, his clothing sullied by it. There was no blood externally, but it rushed to the wound in one quick motion, swelling with purple.  
Saihara kicked him in the abdomen. Momota collapsed completely. He screamed and his body recoiled in pain, scrunching inwards, towards a fetal position.

Ouma stared while Saihara beat the shit out of Momota. He felt frozen in time, unable to move, as if he had been captured by stone.  
_Saihara…Truly is terrifying._  
And now, although he was not consciously thinking it, he began to realize that in this moment, he could not love Saihara in the way he used to. Why was it that when it was only words, the pain was fine, but as soon as there was blood, everything vanished? Was it that those words had been given a realization? That that pain had become a reality? Then were his words not a pain that was real?

Ouma wasn’t thinking of any of this.  
Instead, he felt it deep inside his core, and within himself, he began to realize that his initial shock was just that. Momota was bruised but something about that filled him with a beautiful dread that swept through himself. He was on the ground and Saihara just kept kicking, and kicking, and kicking, not because he deserved it but because he _deserved it_.  
Ouma became so overwhelmed with this feeling that he began to cry. It was warm, but so deep, and low, like he was falling and never stopping. But it didn’t matter. Because it felt good, in some odd way. Ouma was crying, but he was also smiling.  
Something about this was so mesmerizing. He knew it was horrible, but it was so fluid. Saihara’s presence was so strong and Momota’s bruising, bleeding, and screaming were so present that Ouma couldn’t help but feel all the blood rush to his pants. Truly, it was Saihara’s expression.  
Why?  
He was smiling.

Saihara stopped his assault when he heard Ouma sniffling. He decided that enough was enough and that he had made his point. He bent down and grabbed Momota by the chin.  
“You do what I tell you do, you got that?”  
With a face covered in snot, tears, and blood, Momota nodded. He laid on the ground, unable to form the energy to stand. After a while, he decided that he would have to stand, energy or not, and stumbled his way back up.  
When he stood, he looked down, without any emotion. Saihara realized that he wouldn’t be talking very much anymore. He groaned.  
“Momota bullied a kid into suicide.”  
Momota had no change in expression.  
“He told him in person and online every single day, to cut himself and let him bleed to death, to get cancer and let the dogs eat his brains out. He even sent him a how-to on how to tie a noose. And, well, the kid was dead the next morning. And Momota felt nothing.”  
No reaction.  
Ouma looked down, at his feet. He took a moment to take in Saihara’s words, attempting to understand the reality behind them. When he realized that it didn’t matter, he looked up. Saihara was calm. He flicked the dirt off his hands.  
“I feel like we won’t get anything done for now, so I’ll call things quits.”  
He took a deep breath and his words chilled the Earth.  
“Meet here, tomorrow. Don’t be late.”


End file.
